Between the Pages
by petrichorandperennials
Summary: She works at a bookshop, and she swears he's too daft to read, but he just keeps coming back. James/Lily. AU.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Hi! I'm writing a WIP, I guess. Which is weird. I don't really do this anymore. And what's more is that it's AU, which I never ever ever write. And what's more is it's James and Lily, and I am not sure when I started writing about them so much, but here we are. Forgive my blunders with European money, I am unenlightened. There is going to be more. There will be explanations of the vague parts. And flashbacks. Some of those, maybe lots of those. And a longer chapter next time, probably. Eek, I don't know! (rating may also/will certainly also/be increased at some point but for now).

* * *

Lily takes a job at a bookshop the summer after her sixth year of boarding school. She's tired of spending the sticky days of June hiding amongst tall grasses that itch the skin right below the edges of her cut-off shorts. She's impatient and wistful and she can't seem to write anymore, can't seem to get the words from heart to head and from head to paper.

She likes the book shop. She likes her boss, Minerva, who takes her tea black and relaxes her usually stern expression when Lily shares her poetry aloud. She likes the quiet of reading souls, the way that people get dreamy and languid as they thumb through the pages of books. She likes the smell of ink and the crack of new spines. She likes that she can read any of the books, all of them if she'd like, as long as she takes care of them and brings them back, eventually.

She's not looking, not really, but she's lonely, somewhere deep down. So she fills herself with words, phrases, paragraphs. Fills herself up to make up for losing her sister, her best friend, her father.

She's looking for an adventure, an escape. And it's just her luck that she finds one.

She's re-reading _A Tale of Two Cities_ on a slow day at the shop. She's leaning over it at the counter, her fingers gripping the edges of the book and her long red hair falling out of her bun just a small bit, requiring her to brush loose strands out of her face every so often. It's quiet, a Tuesday. There's one older gentleman in the cooking section perusing, and every once in awhile she glances up at him, to see if he's still there.

The door chimes, and she turns to look, but as soon as she recognizes who's entering the store, she sighs and returns to her story.

They call them "The Marauders", she and her friend Mary, who also works at McGonagall's. It's a silly little name they've coined for the group of blokes that pass through every few days, making a mess and entirely too much noise. The days when they come Lily enjoys, but also hates, and she's not entirely sure what to do with that.

She doesn't know their names, at least not officially. She's never asked, but she's heard them used plenty. She knows one of them to be called "Peter" because she's heard the others refer to him as that, always with a tone of exasperation. There's Remus, who she sort of likes, because he's quiet and is always telling the others to calm down. There's Sirius, who's a trouble maker, but seems funny, and whom Mary seems to have a bit of a crush on.

And then there's James.

The gentleman in question saunters up to Lily, who pointedly ignores him, and rings the small silver bell that's been placed on the counter for customers to use when she (or whoever else is working) is in the back.

"You know, you don't have to ring that. I'm right here." she says, for what she imagines is the hundredth time this summer. She doesn't look up from her book, trying to concentrate on Sydney Carton and finding herself inexplicably examining her chipped nail varnish instead, waiting for his retort.

"Aren't you going to ring me up?" James drawls, and she can already see his infuriatingly boastful smile without even glancing up.

"No, because I happen to know that you never buy anything, and I can't see why you'd start now, seeing as you probably can't read."

Sirius wolf whistles and chuckles from somewhere behind James, but she won't, she absolutely _refuses_ to look up at them.

James just laughs. "Hey now, miss, that's not very nice. I happen to have a book right here that I would like to purchase and perhaps even go home and _read_."

She looks up, finally, with disdain. And of course, he's smiling crookedly at her, his eyebrows cocked, and, good lord, he's holding a copy of Hamlet. His glasses are slightly askew on his face, and his hair is sticking up. His eyes are very light grey. For a fleeting moment there's the slightest swooping feeling in her stomach, as if she's peering over the edge of a cliff, but it's gone as quickly as it appears. She stares at the book, stares at him, and shakes her head.

"What do you not want my money?" he asks. She almost glares, but sighs and grabs the book from him, turning it over to write down the identification number and price on her carbon paper pad. She's looking down again so she doesn't see which friend whispers something to him that makes him scoff, but she pointedly ignores it and continues writing.

"It's nineteen-oh-four." she says, all business, handing his book back to him. He doesn't take it.

"I'm a fan of Macbeth, but I'm not sure how I'll feel about Hamlet. All the soliloquies. What do you think?"

She almost laughs, because until now the only thing that James had bought at her store was one of the fruit lollies they have for sale at the counter for kids, and now he's trying to discuss Shakespeare with her.

"It's nineteen-oh-four." she says again, more insistently this time, pushing the book out farther towards him. He takes it this time, and burrows in his jeans pocket for a twenty pound note. He slides it across the counter with a smirk, all coolness and class, and she fights off the urge to grumble as she opens the register and counts out his change.

She looks up at him to drop it into his hand and he's still smirking. His friends have dispersed, Remus thumbing through a cryptozoology book, Peter standing awkwardly by him and Sirius outside the shop windows smoking.

"So do you think I'll like it?" he inquires again, a little more quietly and, she thinks, a little more seriously now that his friends are gone.

For a moment, she considers him. He's been in here almost every day for a month, passing through on his way to the music shop that's situated behind McGonagall's, no doubt, and has never bought anything, and never failed to bother Lily into oblivion. And yet, here he is, buying Hamlet.

"Sure. He never knows when to stop talking. Just like you." she says, abruptly closing the cash register, propping up the little sign that says "ring bell for assistance" and leaving James standing at the counter nineteen pounds poorer with a handful of Shakespeare. She doesn't look back as she rounds the corner to the back room, even though she wants to.

* * *

**A/N pt. 2:** So that's it! Chapter one! I have ideas for this. Lots of them. Not sure how long it will be. Not sure when I will stop. But I pretty much wrote the whole thing in my head this morning when I was biking to work. These things just happen. Reviewers get love.

I sort of imagine Lily listening to Devil Moon by Slow Runner as she reads at the counter. It's a sad, Lily-esque summery song I suppose.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** I am really not happy with this chapter. It's short, whatever. It will get better, I promise. Anyway, I got some really, really REALLY kind reviews, and I am super thankful. You guys are great and you've made me want to keep writing this.

* * *

The first time James sauntered into the bookshop with his three friends, Lily turned him down twice. He'd knocked over the entire historical fiction section and Lily had rushed over, her face already hot with annoyance. He was bent down, halfheartedly trying to pick up books off of the floor, but still laughing along with his friends.

"Serves them right," he was saying, "Who reads this historical fiction rubbish anyway?"

Lily had decided right about then that she'd had enough of this boy already.

"Stop, just stop," she had snapped, causing him to look up at her curiously, which quickly turned into him straightening up, running a hand through his already untidy black hair, and fixing her with what she imagined he must have thought quite a charming smile.

"Hello, miss. Sorry about the books." he'd said, and she glared menacingly. This had only made him smile wider and stick out a hand.

"James Potter," he said, and one of his friends sniggered, reminding Lily for the first time that there were other people with him. She ignored his introduction completely and stared at his hand although it was covered in grime.

"Please just go, or get what you came for, and let me clean this up." she practically growled.

"Hey now, there's no need to be rude, I was trying to clean it up myself." He was still smiling and it absolutely infuriated her.

"No, you were laughing and making cheap shots about historical fiction." This caused one of his friends, with long black hair pulled into a ponytail to guffaw loudly. She shot him a withering glare.

"Just go." she was practically begging, wanting to get the books cleaned up before another customer came in.

"C'mon, James," another one of his friends said, this one with sandy hair and a kind face. Lily shot him a grateful glance and he had smiled tentatively.

"Alright, Red," James said, putting his hands up in mock defense. "We were just on our way to the music shop out back."

"Of course." Lily muttered, crouching down and beginning to stack the books back on the shelf next to her.

"What, you don't like music, Red?" he inquired, and when she looked up he was leaning against another bookshelf, his head cocked to the side. His friends had mysteriously vanished. His eyes were grey. Very, very grey.

"Of course I like music. I just like books a bit more." As soon as the words left her mouth she regretted them. She was opening the field for more conversation that she wasn't sure she really wanted to have.

"Ah, so a bookworm, then?" he asked cheerfully, finally leaning down to help her with a few books. She swatted his hand away.

"I can do it myself!" she said, a little too angrily, then, "Sorry."

He just laughed.

"It's always the bookish types that are the most testy."

Lily glowered at him. "Weren't you going somewhere?"

"Yeah, sure, I better go, but while I'm here, do you want to go out sometime?"

She looked at him, his arrogant smile, so sure that she would say yes because, _who wouldn't_?

"No."

She watched his face drop ever so slightly.

"Oh come on, maybe we could-"

"No, thanks."

She almost felt bad for him. Just for a moment when the mischievous sparkle in his eyes made way for what she might have deluded herself into calling hurt, she almost felt bad. But then he straightened up, ran a hand through his hair, throwing her a toothy grin and said, "Next time you'll say 'yes'," and walked away.

"Git," she had muttered to herself as he disappeared out the back door of the shop.

Lily was picking up the last few books, still gritting her teeth, when a piece of paper had fluttered down to her feet. On it was a phone number. She crumpled it up and threw it out without a second thought.

* * *

She's doing inventory in the store's small office the morning after he buys _Hamlet _when her friend and co-worker Mary stalks into the room, slamming her purse down on the table. Lily raises an eyebrow at her, knowing better than to ask.

"That complete _git _Benjamin stood me up again last night," she seethes, plopping herself down on a stool and dramatically laying her head on the table, her long, blonde hair fanning out around her.

"Is that the one with the tattoo?" Lily asks casually, biting her lip to keep a chuckle in.

Mary grunts in what Lily assumes is the affirmative, but doesn't pick her head up off of the table.

"Don't worry, love, there are plenty of blokes out there willing to take you on a date," she tries again.

Mary looks up feebly, glaring nonetheless.

"Hey, just trying to help," Lily sighs, pulling a pencil out of her bun and beginning to scribble down numbers.

"I just wish a nice, charming bloke would notice me for once," Mary groans into the wooden table-top. "Not these seedy types who like one night stands sans breakfast."

Lily shakes her head, saying nothing, and bringing a hand up to her face to hide her smile.

"Oh stop, just because you've got that Potter bloke asking you out four times a week doesn't mean you can laugh at my loneliness."

The redhead lets out a slow breath and looks at her friend.

"That doesn't count. In no way would I consider that boy nice or charming. Besides, I think he's done asking me out," she says.

"What makes you say that?" Mary huffs, obviously still unforgiving.

"Well he came in yesterday and bought a book. Didn't even mention it. He was a git as always, but he didn't ask me out."

Mary rolls her eyes. "Well isn't that just great for you."

"Yes, actually." Lily retorts, a little annoyed now.

"I don't see why you don't just give him a chance."

"The fact that you even have to ask makes me even less willing to take advice from you."

"Fine." The girls glare at each other for a moment, and then both burst into giggles.

"Boys are rotten." Lily reminds her friend, when they're both done laughing.

"Gits, all of them." Mary agrees, pulling her hair into a long braid. "Guess it's time to get to work."

"See you when I'm done back here," Lily sighs, returning to her numbers with a grimace.

She's counting receipts from the previous day when she finds his, "James Potter" written neatly at the bottom in her own handwriting. Sighing, she runs her fingers over it and asks herself why she can't stop thinking about him.

* * *

The second time, she had been on a ladder, replacing books on one of the higher shelves when she had heard a familiar voice ask, "Can you direct me to the historical fiction section, please?"

She had looked down to see him, grinning up at her, a hand outstretched as if to help her down from her precipice.

"I think you know where it is." Lily had sighed, turning back to her shelving.

"Oh, well I may have forgotten where it is. Do you mind helping me, at, say, seven tonight at Hogsmeade pub?"

She scoffed, shaking her head, "Classy, Potter. Ask a girl to 'help you' at a pub."

He had ignored the implication and instead said happily, "You remembered my name!" She mentally reprimanded herself for letting it slip. "It really is a shame I don't know yours."

Lily had frowned at this, climbing down the ladder and hoisting it up to move it over to the next shelf.

"So what is it, then?"

She'd looked at him, incredulity on her face, and he'd just smiled back like she had been nothing but sweet to him.

She pressed her lips together for a moment, trying to calm herself. "Are you going to buy a book or not?"

"Probably not," he admitted, still smiling, his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. His hair had been just as untidy as the first time and his rectangular glasses frames were crooked on the bridge of his nose. She thought, just for a second, that if he wasn't such a pain he might be actually attractive, but then he'd gone and done it again.

"So, tonight, at seven?"

"No, thanks." she'd said, abandoning her ladder and heading back to the counter, refusing to look back at the boy with the grey eyes and untidy hair who, for some reason, had come back again.

The third time she'd been cleaning the shop windows right before closing.

The fourth, she had just finishing chatting with a regular customer about the garden she was planning on starting that week.

The fifth she hardly heard at all, seeing as he had whispered the question to her along with a sly wink on his way through the store, not even waiting for the answer that died on her tongue.

The sixth came as a note taped to the cash register drawer, and she spent an hour wondering how he'd gotten it there.

The seventh time he asked her out, she had seen his shoulders droop a bit on the way out the door, the bells jingling happily, perhaps mockingly, behind him.

The eighth and last time, he had been serious, promising he would try to not be a git if she would please, please just get a coffee with him some time.

She had still said "no".

She had said "no" all eight times.

Not that she was counting.

* * *

**Author's Note:** The tenses are sort of throwing me off. It's not sounding the way I want it to quite yet, but there really won't be many flashbacks from now on so it shouldn't make a difference. You guys are awesome. Reviews are appreciated, a lot. One of the last ones actually made me jump around my room a little bit. :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **Okay, thank you THANK YOU to I3ozo for letting me know about the money thing. Okay, maybe nineteen is too much for a copy of _Hamlet_, so let's pretend it was a really fancy, hardcover, limited edition _Hamlet_. Sound good? :) On another note, no there is not going to be magic in this story. The idea is that it's completely AU, in the Muggle world, and Lily is attending a boarding school for the arts. The first time I wrote chapter one, that was all there, but then I but a bunch out and tried my best to imply it, but it got a little lost in the mix. So sorry about any confusion!

FYI, this is going to be quite a few chapters long, I think. I have a lot of it written in my head, so it hopefully won't be too long between updates. Okay, boring you guys now, I'm sure. On to the story!

* * *

"Hey, Red!"

Lily is sitting behind the counter reading - this time it's _A Catcher in the Rye_ - when she hears him calling.

The boy named Sirius walks up to her, smiling, and leans his elbows on the counter. She has to admit she's a bit surprised, seeing as they've never said more than four words to one another. Seeing him alone is even more surprising. Without his friends, without _James_, he looks like he's missing a limb, or perhaps an eye. Suddenly dropping his grin and adopting a mock- serious frown, he leans in, his long black hair falling into his eyes. She leans back a bit in bewilderment because his face has suddenly become very close to hers.

"Don't tell anyone I'm asking this, because I am definitely not, because I am most certainly not looking for cooking books for my mum's birthday and I am most certainly not asking you if you might have any on pie baking." He says this in an undertone, a hand placed by his mouth to shield his words from prying eyes.

Her eyes widen for a moment, and then she's laughing, and he leans back, acting offended.

"Well you don't have to_ laugh_," he chides, pursing his lips, only causing Lily to laugh harder. When she doesn't stop, he crosses his arms and mumbles, "Fine. I'll get help elsewhere."

Lily calms down enough to wave a hand at him, and finally tells him, "No, I'll help, we've got a few."

He still looks disgruntled, but when she hops down from her stool and motions for him to follow her into one of the shop's side rooms, he obliges.

"Our cooking section is here," she points to a row of books along the back wall, "and the books we have about pie are down here at the end of the baking section."

"You're a life saver, love," he admits, bending down and pulling the last book of the row out, glancing at it, and tucking it under his arm. While he's looking more closely at the others, Lily leans against the nearest bookshelf and watches him.

After a moment she asks, "So where are your friends?"

He looks up at her and smirks.

"Not here, it's just you and me, love."

He waggles his eyebrows suggestively, and she swats his arm, rolling her eyes.

"No, I was just wondering what store they're off trashing if not mine."

"Ah, so you do like him."

"Him?" she asks, all innocence, and his smirk grows, the corners of his mouth edging so high that his cheeks dimple. For a second she thinks he looks positively canine.

"You know, James, my best mate, the one you've been snubbing for weeks now." he says, and she casts him a dangerous look.

"Maybe if he didn't knock over my books and act like such a-"

"Hey, that's my best mate you're talking about." Sirius reminds her, but his tone is indifferent and he's grabbing another book and straightening up. He stands right in front of Lily, at least a foot taller than her, and stares her down.

"He's an arrogant toe-rag," Lily finishes, attempting to keep her facial expression matter-of-fact.

"Sometimes," Sirius concedes, "But he likes you."

Lily bites her lip and looks down.

"He doesn't even know me."

"Yet."

"Stop." She looks back up at him, annoyed. "See, there's the problem. You and him are all about the "yet". 'You'll say yes eventually, Red'," she mocks in a deep voice. Her companion laughs.

"Well you seem to know him _pretty_ well."

"He comes in, wrecks things, asks me out like he already knows I will oblige, and then acts hurt when things don't go his way," she says, placing her hands on her hips. Sirius considers her for a moment, his dark eyes shining. Then he just shrugs and brushes a bit of hair out of his face.

"That's just how he does things," he offers, "His family is sort of...well...he's used to getting what he wants. I guess he sort of expects it. It's not because he's arrogant, although I admit he can be," he adds when he sees Lily's dubious expression, "Look, I'm not saying he's the perfect guy, but he's not so bad. And he's lonely."

She scoffs again at this, but he shakes his head, "No, I'm serious."

"Are you sure you're serious, Sirius?" she jests, unable to stop herself and grateful for an excuse to divert the subject matter and he glares at her.

"Sure, haven't heard that one before."

She bites her lip to hide a smile, "Sorry."

He looks at her for a moment and sighs. Lily watches him, wondering if he's going to bring up James again or not. She sort of wants him to, but can't quite figure out why. Maybe she just wants to have her say, somehow. "He probably won't be bothering you anymore anyway," he finally says with a shrug, "He told me he's giving up. A lost cause, you know."

Lily's stomach drops slightly.

"Oh," she settles on saying, unsure of how else to respond. He's watching her closely again, and it makes her self-conscious. She tugs at a strand of her hair and he says, finally, "It's okay, you know. He's a big boy. He can handle it."

She meets his eyes tentatively.

"Yeah," she says.

He smiles, nods his chin towards the front of the store, "You going to let me pay for these or not?"

As she's ringing him up he flashes his teeth at her in a wily grin, "So what _is_ your name?"

She laughs, and hands him his receipt. "Not a chance. You'll go telling _him_, and then his notes will be _personalized_."

"What a thought."

"Terrifying," she jokes, grinning widely.

Defeated, he brings a hand up to his forehead in a salute, hugs his purchases to his chest, and swaggers out of the store.

She smiles after him, for a moment, then sits down on her stool, her head in her arms. After a moment she lets out a long breath, sadness creeping into her subconscious.

With him gone, she's got nothing to do, and too many thoughts.

* * *

She had been sitting at one of the many stone picnic tables that littered the great expanse of lawn at school on the last few days of her fifth year. It was the brightest, bluest sky she had seen all year, and it was her last day of exams. She had a notebook propped open in front of her and a pen between her teeth, her forehead creased with concentration. She was periodically glancing at the daisies that grew abundantly in the grass beneath her, matching the one that adorned her hair. The boy sitting next to her had his long black hair concealing his face, and he was scribbling on a piece of paper. Lily broke out of her concentration and stared at him for a second before inquiring, "What are you drawing, Sev?"

Her companion looked up at her, a timid smile on his face, and tried to casually cover his drawing with his forearm. "Nothing, really," he responded.

Lily placed the best pout on her face that she could muster, and his smile grew ever so slightly. "What are you writing, Lily?" he returned, and the corners of her mouth dropped a bit.

"Nothing, really," she said, and at his skeptical look added, "No, really, I can't think of a single thing to write."

"That's unlike you," he noted, and she huffed in agreement.

"I know. It's beautiful out, the flowers smell incredible, the sky is a lazy lapis lazuli, and here I am alliterating out loud and still nothing on the page."

The boy had laughed, giving her a look of adoration, which she ignored. They sat in silence for a moment, and Lily closed her eyes, trying to observe the world around her without her sight, a technique her favorite writing professor had taught her the year before. She was just admiring the sound of a lone cricket, awake much too early in the day, when she felt something hard nudge her hand. She opened her eyes and looked down to see that Severus's notebook had been the culprit, and then gasped when she saw a precise and delicate rendering of her face staring up at her.

"Oh, Sev!" she exclaimed, carefully picking up the pad to examine the drawing more closely. "It's absolutely beautiful. Much too beautiful, for me."

He was shaking his head before she finished speaking. "Not to me," he said sincerely, "I couldn't-" he paused, swallowing, and looked at her intently, "I couldn't ever do you justice."

Lily's stomach had dropped at his words, far too kind even coming from her closest friend, and so she had laughed to cover up her discomfort. Her cheeks flushed red, though, and he must have taken this as a good sign because he continued, bravely, blowing a bit of dark hair from his face and puffing out his chest a little bit. Lily had to admit she admired his courage, though she dreaded what she thought he might be about to do. She had been waiting for it for years.

"You know, Lily, I've really been meaning to tell you something for awhile now." If he hadn't closed his eyes as a way to build up the courage to finish what he was about to admit, he may have seen the horror slip onto her face as realization hit, but he didn't, and finally said out loud to Lily Evans, "I am in love with you."

When he opened his eyes, hers were wide, her mouth pressed into a thin line. She could hear him swallow, saw the darkening of his already deep brown eyes, and stared into the eyes of the boy she had grown up beside, the boy who told her that she could write her way out of a death sentence if she had to, the boy who had made her believe in the good things in the world, the boy who was her _best friend_, and said exactly what she was thinking: "You're my best friend, Sev."

The eager light in his eyes disappeared instantly, and his mouth formed a hard line.

"I'm so sorry," Lily pleaded, embarrassed to feel her eyes growing moist.

He looked at her for a moment, opened his mouth, closed it, and then finally asked, "Who is it?"

She was dumbfounded, honestly. She had thought, that after all this time he would have known that if there was anyone who made her feel even slightly amorous she would tell him, because they were _friends_.

"There's no one else, Severus," she choked out, in her mind still pleading with whatever higher being that there may be that he was joking, or that this wasn't really happening. "I'm just-it's not you."

She had been waiting for something or someone, this was true. She was a romantic, it was something she never denied, but when she looked at him, all she saw was Sev, a little boy, still so confused, and he was like family. But he loved her.

"I'm so, so sorry," she repeated, completely drained. He looked at her for a moment, nodded curtly, grabbed his notebook, and stood. She made a grab for his hand, but he wrenched it away.

"You'll come around," he assured her, and it felt like a warning. He left her sitting there, his feet crushing daisies as he walked away.

* * *

She's closing the shop only a few hours after Sirius leaves when Mary stumbles in, a little drunk.

"Lily! I knew you'd be here, doll, and I knew, that if I know you at all, you're sulking, and you ought not to be, because it's Saturday night!" The blonde is grinning, and slings an arm around Lily, kissing her affectionately, and a bit sloppily, on the cheek. Lily pulls away in mock disgust, but she's grinning as well.

"Bloody hell, I'm fine, Mare," she insists, helping her friend onto a stool and sitting down on one herself, "I'm just tired, you know?"

Mary looks at her, a little unfocused, but suspiciously. "You're sulking about Severus again, I can tell."

Lily pretends to be confused, asking, "What makes you say that?" but she catches her lower lip between her teeth and it gives her away.

Mary snorts, taking Lily's face between her palms and saying seriously, "You're better than this, Lil, he doesn't own you and it's not your fucking fault." The redhead sighs, leaning into her friend's touch.

"I know, I just-"

Mary cuts her off, pulling her hands away and waving them angrily. "You're just blaming yourself for his sadness, wondering, 'Oh, if _only_ I wasn't such a coldhearted bitch, I would have loved him back', but you're _not _a coldhearted bitch, and it was his fault, and you know it, somewhere deep down."

"I guess," Lily mutters, placing her palms on her forehead and pressing, trying to will away the headache that's suddenly plaguing her. "I'm doing it again, too."

Mary cocks her head to the side, confused, then realization dawns.

"Oh to that Potter kid?" she asks, snapping her fingers as she makes the connection, "No, that's very different, to him you _are _being a coldhearted bitch."

Lily glares angrily, but her friend just shrugs.

"I'm just saying. He seems like a nice bloke, and I don't see why you don't just give him a chance."

"You know why." Lily snaps, her fingers driving into her temples now, "He's just the same, asking me out all the time, acting like I owe him a date, acting like he knows me so well."

"He's persistent, but he's not like Severus," Mary reminds her patiently. Lily shakes her head, unwilling to accept. Though she likes the idea of someone fancying her, being attracted to her, she doesn't want it like this, not again.

"That's just the thing, though. Why can't a boy get to know me, ask me out once, and then accept my answer? Why do I feel like I'm always being pushed into things I don't want?" Her voice breaks as she finishes, and, for what feels like one time too many, she feels burning behind her eyes as she fights back tears. Mary grabs her hand, eyeing her sympathetically with her large blue eyes.

"Lily, please, listen to me. You're free to do what you want. If you're genuinely not attracted to the Potter bloke, keep saying 'no'. He will get over it. He will get the picture. But please entertain this thought: He doesn't know what you've been through. He doesn't understand that persistence is painful to you, even threatening. Maybe he's just a bloke who thinks you're gorgeous and really wants a shot with you." She stops talking, and Lily breathes in, feeling her lungs shudder. She doesn't like to talk about this, about any of this, but here she is, and maybe it needs to be said. The girls are quiet for a moment, cars rushing by on the darkened street outside the window, headlights occasionally throwing their faces into the light. "Not everyone is trying to control you, love." Mary finally says, and Lily sighs sadly.

"But they might be, and that scares the hell out of me." She looks down for a moment and feels Mary's arms wrap around her, slowly, and she falls into them willingly, pressing a cheek to her friend's shoulder. They stay that way for awhile, both breathing quietly, until Lily suggests that she drive them both home. Mary obliges, and waits for Lily to pack up her things.

As Lily turns the key in her ignition, Mary says quietly, "You used to be such a romantic."

_I still am_, Lily thinks desperately, _or at least I want to be. But things happened and the world is a bitch, and now I'm cynical. _And then she decides that it's the worst two things to be - cynical and romantic.

Out loud she concludes, "Things change."

* * *

**A/N:** Hey! A little background!

I am flailing around in the dark. I don't know where this is coming from or what I'm doing. I have three lines of the next howevermany chapters written in my head and that's it. That's all. THE REST IS JUST HAPPENING. STAY WITH ME. YOU'RE ALL PERFECT.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: **Holy heck you guys write some flattering reviews. I definitely squealed at a few of those last ones. I am really, really amazed and excited that everyone is responding so well to this little story. Get excited, though, because this chapter is a turning point, and really extra important to the plot. Also I have had to up the rating to T because there is some semi-graphic stuff in one of the scenes. It's just the implications, but yeah. Read on!

_Disclaimer:_ Poems are "When Lilacs Last in the Door-yard Bloom" and "Continuities" by Walt Whitman, not me, obviously. And Jo-Ro owns the babes.

* * *

_Nothing is ever really lost, or can be lost. _

The coffee shop that she frequently haunts is quiet on this particular Thursday. It's her day off, and she's avoiding her house, as usual. She dreamt entirely too much the night before, and is trying to drown the images from her mind with a bit of poetry. No matter how much Walt Whitman she consumes, however, she can't shake the feeling of being trapped again, trapped by herself and by all of them, up against a wall with nowhere to run. She has one hand on her earl grey, gripping the warm mug a bit too tightly, paling her knuckles. Her other hand is pressed into the spine of her book, keeping it open. She's jittery, as she usually is after an evening of nightmares, and every time the door opens she glances up jerkily. She tries to focus on the words splattered across the yellowing pages, but she's exhausted and her vision is blurry, and she's wishing she could be at home without feeling anxious, nauseous and angry all at once. She hates that she can't move on. Hates that everywhere she turns there are memories of her dad or Petunia or Severus. She takes a gulp of tea, allowing it to slide down her throat and burn the soft tissue along the way, allowing it to warm her from the inside out, and sighs.

* * *

_No birth, identity, form - no object of the world._

_Nor life, nor force, nor any visible thing;_

Her father had been her best friend. She remembered staying up late in the evenings, laying on the floor under his desk while he typed, trying to absorb the words through the soft clicking sounds of the typewriter keys. The carpet would leave pock-marks on her legs and elbows and she would get somewhat hypnotized as she lay there, but she never minded.

"Dad?" she would ask, when she was very small, "When can I write?"

He would chuckle, and pull her gently out from under the table and to her feet. He'd be kneeling in front of her, and would run a hand across her freckled cheeks.

"You can write right now, if you want, Lily-flower."

She listened to these same words many times over before she asked him to teach her.

They started with letters, on a cold winter night, bundled up in their jumpers with pages and pages of white spread in front of them. Lily fisted a pencil in her small hand and drew the forms of "L-I-L-Y" again and again. Her dad watched, carefully coaching her, his brown eyes crinkling with pride as she held up her name, completed, and beamed at him.

They moved on to the rest of the alphabet next, and, as Robert Evans would say, she never stopped writing after that.

Her father bought her a typewriter when she was 10, and she placed it on a small table next to his desk. They would write together during the day, until Lily became exhausted and would lumber off to bed at her mom's instruction, but would listen through the wall to hear the ever present clicking of keys.

Her father died during her sixth year of school. He had been running an errand on a rainy November night, heading to the pharmacy for cold medicine for her mum, and had run off the road. She didn't really remember coming home for break, or the way she felt as hundreds of eyes stared at the back of her head during the memorial service. She had been wearing black, a skirt that she kept pulling down over her knees again and again, a sort of nervous tick. She hadn't cried, although she felt tears pressing against the back of her eyes, ever present and waiting for the right moment.

He was there, sitting in the back, invited by her mum despite Lily's insistence that she reconsider.

"He's a family friend, Lily. He's _your_ friend," she had repeated tiredly.

"You don't understand," Lily cried out, the tears threatening to fall, "It's not the same anymore. I can't see him."

He came anyway.

* * *

_The body, sluggish, aged, cold - the embers left from earlier fires,_

_The light in the eye grown dim, shall duly flame again._

She had taken refuge in the kitchen, her legs crossed as she sat on the tile floor, relishing in the cold of the linoleum on the back of her thighs and the heat of the refrigerator side that she was leaning against. Her house was full of people, mingling, expressing sorrow, and the never-ending pile of casseroles that was still steadily growing was stacked precariously on the counter in front of her. She was staring at it, unblinking, when the swinging door to the kitchen opened. It was Severus.

She had immediately stood up, straightening the hem of her dress and crossing her arms protectively.

"What are you doing in here, Severus?" she asked, biting off her words.

He looked at her for a second, his face impassive if not calm, and for a moment she saw a bit of the boy he had once been, hidden in the hollows of his sunken cheeks.

"I was looking for you." he said eventually, casually, and she noticed that his eyes did a sweep of her from the top of her head to her bare feet, her heels having been shed long ago. This movement of his eyes made her shiver, and she felt trapped, her back pressed against the refrigerator.

"Why?" she mumbled, and his the corner of his mouth turned up, but not in the familiar, friendly way she was once used to. It was menacing now.

"I can help," he said, "You know I love you, Lily. I can comfort you. I know just how I can." She was shaking her head already, her hands flat against the metal of the appliance behind her, and she consciously felt herself leaning away from him with nowhere to go. This was the same song, the same words he had been saying since that first confession. The phrases he had been growling to her as she passed in hallways, yelled at her across campus, written down in semi-threatening notes. Again and again, he had attempted to convince her that she did love him, and that he just had to show her.

"You don't love me, Severus," she insisted, her voice shaking more than she intended, "You want me to love you, but you don't love me."

He laughed, and it was mirthless.

"You're silly and you're wrong." he said, his voice cool but unaffected. He took a step closer, and Lily closed her hands into fists. "Just let me hold you."

His voice had been soft, and Lily remembered wanting to believe him, wanting to want the things he had been insisting she wanted for almost six months now. For a moment, she thought she could pretend that everything was okay and let him hold her while she finally cried. But then he was pressed against her, his hands closed roughly around her wrists, restraining her. His lips crushed against hers and she let out a yelp, her eyes wide and her legs going rigid. As she struggled against him, he pressed harder against her, his fingers clawing into her skin and his lips bruising. His hips were digging into hers and it _hurt _and she was pleading in her head for someone, anyone to walk in and stop him. But no one did. Her legs felt like jelly as she kicked at his shins but he released her, his lips swollen and his eyes wide and dark.

"I will _never _love you," she spit at him, ice shards in her voice, and tears finally streaming down her face. And she ran from the room.

* * *

_The sun now low in the west rises for mornings and noons continual;_

She's so, so tired, her defenses down, and when he walks into the coffee shop she meets his eyes and doesn't look away. He's hesitant, but he strolls up to her, his hands in his pockets.

"Can I sit here?" he asks, and maybe it's only because of the the nightmares, maybe it's because the earl grey is doing nothing to fight off the stupor, or maybe it's just that he _has_ asked _nicely_, but she nods.

James looks appropriately pleased, but still wary. He sits down in the chair across from her placing his elbows on the table.

"What are you reading?" he asks, trying to eye the spine of her book. She picks it up off the table and shows him, and he smiles, running a hand through his hair. "Poetry, I should have known."

She should take offense to this, but his words are soft and his eyes and kind behind his specks, and she's so, so tired. Surprising even herself she asks, "Would you like to hear one?"

He's staring at her, and she feels a bit self-conscious. She twirls a bit of her hair between two fingers and bites her lip.

"I would, yeah," he says decidedly, his eyes still soft, so she picks up her book, very carefully avoiding his gaze, and thumbs through a few pages. She clears her throat and with a quick glance at his face which is rapt with attention, begins.

_In the door-yard fronting an old farm house, near the white wash'd palings,_

_Stands the lilac bush, tall-growing, with heart-shaped leaves of rich green,_

_With many a pointed blossom, rising, delicate, with the perfume strong I love,_

_With every leaf a miracle...and from this bush in the door-yard, _

_With delicate colored blossoms, and heart shaped leaves of rich green,_

_A sprig, with its flower, I break. _

When she finishes she sets her book down and looks up at him, folding her hands under her chin and trying to understand the expression on his face. He looks like he's contemplating something very hard, his lips downturned and his brow furrowed.

"When Lilacs Last in the Door-yard Bloom?" he says questioningly, and her eyebrows shoot upward.

"Yes, actually."

"It's much longer than that, isn't it?" he asks, and she nods, still looking surprised. He laughs at her expression. "Oh, don't act so shocked. We read it in my Literature and Poetry class." Her mouth twitches at this, and he grins at her. "Despite what you might think, I actually enjoy the occasional book."

"What are you doing here, anyway?" she inquires, ignoring his last statement, and he shrugs.

"I like this place. They play good music, have good coffee, have insanely comfortable chairs."

She raises her eyebrows, the corners of her mouth turning upwards, finally.

"Chairs?"

"Yeah!" he says, gesturing towards one that's occupying another empty space at her table for four. "Good upholstering, a nice back to lean against, anything you might want in a chair."

She snorts into her sip of tea, and he looks happy with himself.

"What are _you_ doing here?" he asks.

"Not being at home." she says, automatically, and instantly regrets it. She figures he will ask more about it, pester her about her motives, but he doesn't, and instead says, "Yeah, me too, actually."

She considers him for a moment, curiously, and they sit in silence like that, just staring at each other. It should be awkward, she thinks, but it isn't. She's trying to read him, like she reads books, to understand his intentions and feelings. To decide if she's been making a lot of mistakes recently. After a minute she comes to a conclusion. She closes her book, downs the dregs of her tea and stands up.

"I'm going to check out the record shop next door. You're welcome to join me if you want."

He looks baffled for a moment, then slowly nods. A smile follows soon after.

"That's my favorite place to not be at home," he says, she she feels the corners of her mouth twitch up, and surprisingly stay there.

He has surprisingly good taste in music, she decides, as he thumbs through the vinyl and "hmms" at certain titles. He's wearing a dark green shirt, and it makes his eyes appear a deep ashy grey. He has a habit of sticking his tongue between his lips, just a little bit, when he's concentrating. His glasses are still crooked. Lily notices these things in passing before he pulls an album from the pile and hands it to her, his eyebrows cocked in question.

"Ewan MacColl?" she asks, surprised, but pleasantly.

He looks a bit sheepish. "What can I say, I like folk."

She laughs out loud, and the sound of it is foreign but welcome to her ears. "No, I like that, I love folk."

He looks quite pleased with himself and grins at her, causing her stomach to swoop dangerously. She's not sure if it's fear or excitement. She's not sure if she wants to know just yet.

They explore the shop for another hour and a half, arguing about some bands, agreeing on most of them, and she finds that she's having a really good time, something she didn't expect. And in all this time he has not once asked her on a date. Or asked her for anything, really. She wonders what's changed, if anything, but tries not to think too hard about it because for the first time in a long time she's really truly enjoying herself with someone other than her mum or Mary or her boss and it's actually pretty nice.

When he finally glances at his watch and sighs, she finds herself strangely disappointed, knowing what's coming.

"Hey, I've got to get home," he says, and she feels herself nodding. She wants him to stay. She wants to keep talking to him about anything and everything, and she's not sure if it's him or the fact that he's giving her an excuse to avoid seeing her family.

"Alright, yeah, me too." she agrees reluctantly, hyper-aware of his eyes on her, and the way he's smiling ever so slightly at her hesitance.

"So I'll see you around, alright?" he says, and she nods once more, and then he's gone. She watches him go, the boy with the glasses and the grey eyes, and wonders why she misses him already.

When she's arriving home later she realizes two things: one, he still doesn't know her name, and two, she has left her book at the coffee shop.

_To frozen clods ever the spring's invisible law returns,_

_With grass and flowers and summer fruits and corn. _

**A/N: **Blah blah blah so there it is! Reviews are appreciated so much, really. Bonus points if you can guess my favorite poet ;)


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note: This is weird. This is crazy. I don't even know what's happening anymore. It's so AU and I never expected this. Anyway. I made a playlist for this story. Is that weird? I hope not. It's on 8tracks, though, so listen to it while you read, maybe?

/adoxographie/pressed-between-the-pages/

* * *

She doesn't think about her book when she wakes up, missing the smell of him, the way he looked at her when she allowed him to sit with her. She had dreamt, but remembers only bits of it in strange colors, strange forms of light and subconsciousness. They were the best dreams she had encountered in a long time. Dreaming of nothingness is all she hopes for these days.

Her mum catches her as she's leaving the house, fussing over of the peter pan collar of Lily's blouse, turning the edges down and smoothing it to lay flat. Her soft brown eyes crinkle as she smiles sadly at her daughter. Lily tries not to make a face, because she's late for work and doesn't want to get in a row.

"Lily, love, will you write to your sister this week?"

Lily, despite her attempts at the contrary, purses her lips and narrows her eyes.

"I'd really rather not."

"Lily..." her mother replies, a tired warning, her forehead creasing in disappointment. Lily's stomach drops, ashamed, even after all this time. She doesn't want to be this difficult. She doesn't want to disappoint her mother, but she knows for a fact that the only thing that will come from writing to her sister will be hours of tears on Lily's part and no response on Petunia's.

"Mum, she doesn't like to hear from me. She doesn't want to hear from me," Lily tries to insist, but her mother is shaking her head slowly before she even finishes, pressing a palm to Lily's face and forcing a sad smile. Forcing bravery.

"Now, flower, that's not true."

Lily places a hand over her mother's and mirrors her expression.

"It is, though, mum," she says, sighing heavily. She knows she's losing this battle, but she really just doesn't know how to win anymore. Her mother watches her, the years etched in the lines of her face and greying hair falling in wisps around her face, wishing nothing more than for her daughters to be happy. Lily knows this, and she knows that there are some things her mother will refuse to accept, for her own protection. She sighs again, thinking this, and nods.

"Okay, I'll write to her," she agrees, resigning herself to the anxiety, pain, and lost hope that results from all of her interactions with her sister. Her mother smiles, the crinkles reforming around her eyes, brushes a piece of Lily's hair behind her ear, and lets her leave.

* * *

_Writing to Petunia wouldn't be so damn difficult if I didn't have so much to apologize for_, Lily thinks as she balls up yet another piece of paper and tosses it into the waste-bin. She knows it's not her fault, not really, and that her apologies have been sincere, and probably should have been accepted long ago, but she still finds that she blames herself. It's been years since they stopped being close, and over a year since they stopped talking, and redemption seems so far away. So she writes, again and again, her pen pressing into paper so hard it rips through again and again, wounding her hand and heart each time.

* * *

_Tuney,_

_Look, Mum wanted me to write to you, and even though I know this is hopeless-_

She scratches this attempt.

_Sister,_

_I miss you, alright? I always have. How many times do I have to say I'm sorry?_

This attempt she rips in half and throws hard at the wall, watching the pieces float down like parachutes.

_Petunia,_

_I want to remind you again, that I am so fucking sorry, and that I swear I didn't know it meant that much to you, and god, I never could have imagined that you were _jealous_ of us, _

Lily slams her pen down on the table, her head following close after, so when the chime at the door rings, she is looking up warily through the hair that's fallen over her face when she sees two of the Marauders walking in. She immediately sits up and runs and hand through her hair nervously, and then wants to scream at herself for having done so. It's just Sirius and Remus, and _why am I acting like a twelve year old with a crush_, she thinks furiously.

The young men wave a hello and approach the counter. Remus smiles warmly, and Lily is reminded at how nice he always seems. Sirius grins at her, too, and then glances down at the papers littering the counter. Lily almost covers them with her hands, but decides it might seem rude, so she resists.

"What are you so _furiously_ writing, Red?" Sirius asks, a frown tugging at his lips. She sighs, looks between the boys, and surprising herself, answers honestly.

"A letter to my sister."

"Sounds nice," Remus says, oblivious, and she laughs bitterly.

"She hates me," Lily deadpans, glancing down again at her various failed attempts.

"Now _this_ is a field of knowledge I excel in," Sirius announces with a mischievous grin, leaning against the counter and holding a hand out expectantly. His eyes are gleaming, his hair falling in his face as usual, and for some unexplainable reason, Lily hands over the half written letter she had just been working on. He takes it from her with a flourish, and his eyes glance over it for a second before he frowns, looks over at Lily, and asks, in a horrified voice, "What on _earth _did you do to her?"

Remus rolls his eyes beside his friend. "Stop being such a drama queen, Padfoot."

"Padfoot?" Lily asks, curiously, but they ignore her. Sirius is glaring at his companion, waving the letter in front of his face.

"It says here that she's sorry, and that she's sorry _again_, which means that she hasn't spoken to this sister in awhile, which means whatever she did must be pretty bad." Lily raises her eyebrows, mildly impressed. He turns to her, smiling, and says under his breath, "I told you I knew a bit about this subject."

Remus grunts his disapproval, "Not every family is like yours, Sirius. It's not all black-listing and severed-ties and long-held grudges."

Lily shakes her head, "No, actually, he's right, Remus," she says, snatching the letter out of Sirius's hand and smoothing it down in front of her, scowling at it. "We haven't said much more than "hello" and "goodbye" to each other in ages. And that's only when my mum is watching."

Sirius looks smug, and Remus looks concerned.

"I'm sorry," he voices genuinely, and Lily smiles gratefully at him.

"It's alright, I guess, I'm used to it."

"I got kicked out of my house," Sirius offers, and Lily finds herself slightly intrigued.

"By your parents?" she wonders, incredulous, trying to imagine what it would be like to not even be welcome by her mother.

"Yup," he says, shrugging, "We didn't really get along."

Lily shakes her head, looking at Remus for confirmation, and he nods, solemnly. She turns back to Sirius, her forehead crinkling with concern.

"What did you do? How could they do that? Where do you _live_?"

Sirius chuckles, leaning forward and placing his hands over Lily's. "Why, are you offering a place for me to stay?" His voice is low and charming, and Lily acts disgusted, pulling her hands away and scoffing, but she's still concerned, and the look that illustrates this feeling is still plastered on her face. Sirius leans back again, grinning.

"To answer your questions: We had some...political disagreements," he says, shaking his head in remembrance, "They're right stupid gits, and I live with James now. His parents took me in."

This is the first time James has come up, and Lily hopes to the gods that she's not blushing.

"That's...nice of them," she manages, but Sirius doesn't call her out on her awkwardness, and neither does Remus, though he does give her a curious look.

"They're saints," Sirius assures her, sincerely, "The lot of them."

Lily nods, unsure of what to say, trying to imagine James and his parents opening the door to a worn-looking Sirius with a pile of bags, left out in the cold.

"So what _did_ you do?" Sirius inquires, breaking her reverie. She looks at him curiously, searching for mockery or mischief. He seems genuinely curious and interested, though, so she sighs, and begins.

* * *

Petunia and Lily had been close. Their days were spent running through the meadows that surrounded their town and lacing together flower crowns which they used in their games and moments of make-believe. They were different, of course. Lily liked to climb trees and catch moths, while Petunia preferred to keep her dresses clean and have tea parties. Nonetheless, the girls got along well, and told each other everything. When Lily decided she wanted to be a poet, Petunia let her stand on tree stumps and recite as many words as she could come up with on a whim to an audience of one human and several tattered stuffed animals. When Petunia decided that she wanted to be a princess and fashion-model, Lily laid her favorite blanket down on the grass as a runway, without hesitation.

When Lily was almost eleven, the Snape family moved into the neighborhood. Severus was Lily's age, but Petunia was still young enough to put up with childish antics, so she tagged along on their adventures, calling them down when they climbed too far up the branches of a scraggly tree, or playing the mother when they created fantasies as living as siblings in a forest hut (which they crafted from the boughs of a willow tree and placed about a mile from the road, towards the lake). Lily loved the hot summer days when she, Tuney and Sev would swim together in the cool water, splashing around and joking about anything and everything. And they were the lasts days she really had with her sister.

She knew that Sev was partial to her over Petunia, but he always seemed to tolerate her sister. One spring evening, though, he made his true opinion known. Lily and Petunia had been fighting, disagreeing on whether Lily's latest poem was too childish, when he'd said it.

"Petunia, you're just jealous because Lily's special, and you're ordinary."

Petunia was rendered silent, tears springing into her eyes, and a small hand flying up to cover her shaking lips.

"Severus, that was awful," hissed Lily, her cheeks growing hot with anger.

"I'm just being honest," he shrugged.

"Apologize, now," the redhead insisted, but her sister was already gone, running back to the house, the sound of her sobs floating back to Lily on the crest of the breeze.

When Lily got her acceptance letter to boarding school, her sister didn't talk to her for three days. As many times as Lily knocked on her door, begging her to say something, Petunia wouldn't budge. For a moment, Lily considered denying her acceptance, staying at home with her family, but her desires to learn, to write, and to be independent won out in the end. Severus received his letter the same day.

Petunia had seen it happen. When Lily ran out of the kitchen the day of their father's funeral, her lips bruised and her eyes streaming, Severus following closely behind her looking smug, Petunia had seen it.

Lily tried to tell her what happened. She tried to explain the pain that he had put her through. She tried to talk to her sister. But her sister wouldn't listen.

"I loved him, Lily," Petunia spat through the crack in her door that Lily was pleading to her through. "But he only ever wanted you, because you're _special_, and I'm nothing. To either of you."

"Please, Petunia, there was never anything there, I never wanted him, and what you saw is not what you think!" Lily was crying heavily, and she knew she was groveling at this point but she was beyond caring.

"Get away from me, freak," her sister said, voice devoid of emotion, slamming the door, and leaving Lily outside to fall to the ground, hugging her knees to her chest, trying to keep the last of what she had left from falling to pieces. Three days later, at a party, Petunia met Vernon Dursley.

* * *

Remus and Sirius sit with her for hours, pens in their hands, helping her come up with something to say. She'd told them the story, and they'd listened intently. She hasn't told them everything, of course, deciding to leave out most of the bits about Severus, but letting them know how bothersome and hurtful he had been. Regardless, they help her write. She's grateful, exceptionally, as they murmur words of encouragement every time she finds herself close to giving up. In the end, she has a simple letter, straight to the point, with no groveling or threats, only truth.

_Tuney,_

_I took a job at the bookstore this summer. You know, the one on Dowry Lane that we used to drive by when Father would take us for ice-cream? Anyway, I like it, a lot. I'm making friends_ (Sirius had added this part, and she'd acted offended, but kept it, secretly quite pleased.) _and have had plenty of time to catch up on my reading. I hope you're well, I really do, and that Vernon is treating you well. You deserve that, you know? I know I wasn't the best at it, so I just hope someone else can be. _

_Mum wishes we were on better terms, I know, and it's sad to see her so broken, but I can't force you to miss me. I miss you, though, plenty enough for us both. _

_Love, _

_Your sister_

Sighing, she folds it in half after having received a nod of approval from each of her companions. Sirius stands up, stretching his arms above his head and standing on his toes to loosen his stiff legs.

"Well, we better get going, Red," he says as he yawns, and Remus nods in agreement.

"It was nice talking to you," the latter says to her, and she smiles, finding herself incredibly glad that they'd stayed with her for so long. "I know you won't tell them your name, but will you tell me?" Remus adds this quietly, whispering it to her with a wink.

"Maybe next time," she teases, not even sure how this game started or why she's still playing it. Remus puts a hand to his chest in mock offense, but grins widely.

Sirius salutes her, and they begin to walk out, but the black-haired boy doubles back, eyeing her carefully before saying,

"Will you give him a chance?"

She doesn't have to ask who. She looks down awkwardly, fiddling with the letter in her hands, and shrugs. She feels him still there, so she says, "I don't know, is it too much to ask for a bloke that will sweep me off my feet?"

She glances up, and knows she will never forget the look on his face when he says,

"Red, James is _trying_."

Lily doesn't know what to say, her mouth opening slightly and her head swimming. Before she can choose the right words, he reaches towards her, clapping a hand encouragingly on her shoulder, and follows his friend out of the store.

* * *

She's in the back room, searching for an envelope, when she hears the door chime. She heads out, but before she makes it to the front, it chimes again. When she approaches the counter, there is no one in the shop. Instead, something is waiting for her.

It's her book of poetry, resting squarely atop the piles of discarded paper. And there's something sandwiched between the pages. Her hands are shaking as she picks it up, her hands smoothing over the familiar cover, and lets the book fall open. Pressed between the pages is a single white lily flower, aromatic and soft, and her breath catches.

She's wondering how he could have possibly learned her name, when she sees the answer staring up at her. Her name, _Lily Evans_, is scrawled in messy thirteen-year-old handwriting on the inner cover of the book. Underneath it, on a small, taped piece of paper are two words:

_Absolutely beautiful._

* * *

_Sometimes with one I love I fill myself with rage for fear I effuse unreturn'd love,_

_But now I think there is no unreturn'd love, the pay is certain one way or another,_

_(I loved a certain person ardently and my love was not return'd yet out of that I have written these songs.) _

Author's Note: AHHHHH. Okay. WHAT AM I DOING, really? Snape and Petunia? I am crazy. Ridiculous. I am so sorry. But it made sense in my head, and I am STICKING TO IT. Writing AU is so hard, guys. I'm actually happy with this, though. Reviews would be lovely. As always.

-E


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:** I am insanely sorry for how long this chapter took. I wrote it once, which took forever, and because I was at the beach and didn't have wifi I didn't get to post it, which of course gave me time to decide that I hated it. And for clarification, the playlist I made is on 8tracks, so the url would be 8tracks plus the stuff that was after the slash at the beginning of the last chapter.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own them, I just like making them kiss.

* * *

The next day Lily is off work, which is why she sees the mailman come. It's early in the morning, and she's barefoot and in cutoffs, perched in her open window with a book propped open on her knees. It's hot, excruciatingly so; even the leaves on the trees seem to be wilting and dry. The roads outside seem to ripple as she watches the small mail truck stop in front of their house. The squat man in white sees her in the window and sends a friendly wave up to her, which she returns and then sighs, closing her book and straightening her white blouse as she heads downstairs. There's a pile of letters resting on the doormat, and the one sitting on top gives her pause. It's square and pristine white, with a hideous, dusty-pink floral border, and she knows instantly what it contains.

When her mum gets home from the store, she's sitting at the kitchen counter with the envelope open in front of her, staring at the wall.

"Lily, dear?"

Her mother's voice breaks her out of her reverie, and she gestures absently to the letter on the table. Her mother picks it up interestedly and then, to Lily's surprise, laughs.

"Well, I can't say I wasn't expecting it, I knew Petunia would never be one for a long engagement. But August? It's so damn muggy. And I can't say I particularly enjoy the putrid little bows."

Lily is silent, choosing to examine her folded hands rather than see her mother's face when she inevitably realizes that Lily has not been invited to her sister's wedding. She hears the shuffling of paper, her mother rifling through the rest of the included information, which contains the note on which her sister has written that she would prefer if Lily didn't attend in leu of a gift. As she picks at the polish on her left thumb, Lily's mother's hand comes down sharply on the table.

"Lily, what is this nonsense?"

The redhead stays silent, for she has nothing to say, really, and she's now fighting back tears.

The silence in the room suggests that her mother is still standing there, presumably in shock or perhaps waiting for her youngest daughter to explain to her why she won't be watching her sister walk down the aisle. Finally she clears her throat and says, "Well you'll be going, of course." Her voice is positively dripping with finality.

Lily hears her walk across the room and pull the corded phone off of the wall, but doesn't stop her, doesn't protest. Instead she quietly unfolds her hands and makes her way out of the kitchen, up the stairs, swallowing back tears as she hears her mother speaking shrilly into the phone to someone who she assumes is Petunia. She doesn't want to hear it, doesn't want to think about it, so she picks up her book of Walt Whitman, lays down on her bed, and loses herself in verse.

* * *

The house is silent for several hours, her mother's raised voice having dissipated long ago, and when Lily finally manages to pull herself away from the familiar, comforting words on the pages of her poetry book, she finds herself drifting to sleep, the summer breeze ruffling her shirt and ghosting over her skin. She dreams in colors, the pasty pink of her sister's invitation, the bright gold of dying grass, the stormy gray of someone's eyes. What seems like moments later, the ringing of the phone jerks her awake, and she blinks tiredly at the pale green of her bedspread, half listening to the sounds coming from the downstairs, wondering if it's Petunia and her mum will start yelling again. Instead she hears a few mumbles and footsteps on the creaky staircase, then a knock on the door. She mutters a "come in" and her mother holds the phone out to her, face flushed.

"It's Mary," she says, obviously still upset, and Lily jumps off of her bed to take the phone from her, but her mother pulls it back, pressing a hand over the mouthpiece. "You need to call your sister later."

Lily's stomach drops, and she wants to protest, but she doesn't want to argue, and she wants to know what Mary wants, so she nods dismissively and grabs the phone.

"Mary?" she asks, pressing the plastic to her ear. Her friend's voice comes out of the receiver, her tones hushed.

"That James bloke has been hanging out in here all day. He's sitting in the poetry section and I think he's actually _reading_."

"_What_?" Lily very nearly screeches, and then takes a deep breath as Mary giggles on the other end of the line. "Why?" Lily manages to inquire calmly this time, even though her heart is stuttering against her ribcage.

"I assume he's expecting you to be here. I don't know why he doesn't just ask me if you're working today. I'd love to witness his expression when he finds out he's been subjecting himself to e.e. cummings all day for nothing."

"I'm coming over," Lily says, already pulling on her sandals.

"Of course you are," Mary replies, an obvious smile in her voice, and then the line clicks.

Lily chances a glance in the mirror at her wild and wide eyes, and then bounds down the stairs on shaky legs.

"Mum, I'm going to the bookstore!"

She calls it out, hoping that she will manage to get out the door without being subjected to conversation, but she doesn't quite make it out the door when her mother calls out for her to stop. She does, one hand already grabbing the keys off the hook, and the other on the doorknob. Her mother looks at her curiously, and a bit sadly, and a bit of the pleasant nervous agitation that's settled itself in Lily's mind ebbs.

"Is there something wrong at the shop?"

Lily bites her lip. "No, Mary just...she has something she really wants to tell me, says I have to be there in person."

She feels bad lying to her mum, but the thought of trying to explain her need to see James makes her feel strangely like she'd be ruining something that's slightly magical, so her guilt doesn't last long. The suddenly pronounced lines on her mother's face, however, cause her to take her hand off of the door.

"Look, Mum, I don't know why Petunia doesn't want me at her wedding. I guess she thinks I'll look dreadful in whatever shade of pink dress she will surely choose for her bridal party, but I can't force her to invite me."

"She's your sister, Lily."

"I know she is. It's not like I'm _pleased_ she hates me," Lily says, annoyance creeping up on her rapidly.

Her mother opens her mouth once, and then closes it. She takes a breath, her eyes closing and then says, "She doesn't _hate _you, Lily-flower. I don't know what's going on between you two, but she doesn't hate you. You're sisters."

Guilt bubbles in Lily's stomach, banishing the annoyance quickly. Guilt that she's never properly explained to her mother why Petunia refuses to talk to her. Guilt that she's always hated Vernon anyway, and would be just as glad not to have to watch her sister marry a man like him. Guilt that she doesn't have the emotional energy to beg for an invitation to this wedding that she's obviously not welcome at. Guilt that her feud with her sister is putting those sharp, miserable lines on her mother's face.

"I'll call her tonight," Lily promises, taking her mother's hands in between hers and staring into the older woman's eyes, precisely the same shade of green as hers. Her mother nods, and her smile is still sad, but Lily leaves for the bookstore anyway, refusing to think about the looming confrontation with her sister as she slides into her over-heated station wagon and turns the key.

* * *

When she pushes through the wooden door at the front of the shop she spots Mary at the counter, who gives her a radiant smile and waggles her eyebrows, pointing to the right-hand room. Lily tries to ignore this, but blushes despite herself. Shooting a withering glare at her friend as she walks, she heads back to her favorite section of the store, the one she now knows James has been occupying all day, waiting for her. She spots him immediately, sitting on the floor with his back against a shelf, a book propped up between his knees. She's struck, suddenly, by how effortlessly handsome he is, even pressed into a space too small for his tall and lanky body, his glasses sitting crooked on the bridge of his nose. He doesn't hear her approach, but when she softly clears her throat he glances up, and then smiles.

"Hey," he says, closing the book in his hands and setting it on the floor next to him. Lily smiles through the incessant fluttering in her stomach.

"Thanks for bringing my book back." He grins a bit wider at her words, and she can't resist her instinct to bite her lip. "My dad gave it to me before...well, it's my favorite, so really, thanks."

"Are you working today?" he asks, and she pauses, wondering if it will seem too strange or forward to tell him that she came over specifically to see him.

"No. I- I needed to come by anyway to pick up some...papers," she mumbles, and then falters, meeting his eyes. This doesn't help. She sighs. "Mary told me you'd been sitting here, _reading_. It seemed fishy, possibly some sort of trap. So I had to see for myself."

He laughs, running a hand through his hair. She wonders if he's nervous, and if his habit of mussing up his hair is a result.

"Anyway," Lily continues, "She said you wouldn't leave and hadn't even looked up, and was considering telling you that I wasn't going to show up just for the pleasure of your disappointment." He looks appropriately sheepish, which makes her happy, and she considers for only a moment before asking, "Would you like to go for a walk?"

He looks at her for a moment, and she awkwardly tugs at the front of her shirt but he nods, and starts to stand, and while he does so Lily chances a look back at counter where Mary is pretending not to watch their interaction. She winks at her friend, who gives Lily a thumbs up.

"Hey, Lily?"

Hearing him say her name causes small flips in her stomach, and when she turns back to him he's still holding the e.e. cummings book, but is now considering a few more books on the shelf.

"I liked Hamlet, but like you said, too much talking. Which one should I try next?" When he finishes asking, he looks up, and she tries to rearrange her face from the shock she's sure it has fallen into. His eyes are wide and light and the precise color of the ones in her dream earlier, and she feels for a moment as if she won't be able to answer.

"Macbeth," she decides, her voice surprisingly calm despite the fact that her insides have positively melted. "It's my favorite. Less monologue, more action. And magic."

"Awesome," he says, and grabs a copy of it off of the shelf, tucking it under his arm along with the book of poetry.

Lily, a little blankly, leads James to the front of the store where he buys the two books. Mary grins a little too knowingly at her as she stands beside him, and she has to force herself not to resort to childish actions and stick her tongue out. When the cash resister closes and he gets his receipt he turns to Lily and grins widely, sweeping a hand out in front of them.

"Lead the way."

* * *

**A/N: **Okay, so I promise the next update won't take as long. I PROMISE. You guys are the best, and your reviews make me incredibly happy. Keep it up, lovelies!


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